Death At The Dinner Party
by DWforlife
Summary: Mike Stamford just wanted to throw a little shingdig together. A murder mystery even, everyone's favourite right? What happens when one of the guests actually turns up dead? Good thing he had the foresight to invite Sherlock Holmes.


**Another story by me. Kind of good, kind of not. Or maybe not at all. Or maybe it is. I don't know, sorry I'm kind of in a funk today, enjoy the story. Or don't. Way to sell it DW.**

* * *

"I don't want to be here."

"God."

"What?"

"I told you over and over again, you didn't have to come."

"Well I didn't know _then_ that I didn't want to go."  
"You're a child."  
"What's the point of this? I solve murder for a living I don't want to do it in my down time too."

"The point, Sherlock is to have fun, and... yes you do!"

They were standing in the foyer of a large house. Mike Stamford and his wife were dressed in late 1880's clothing, and were parading around talking to the other guests.

"Costumes. They're not going to make us wear costumes are they?"

"Don't know. That's usually how these things go isn't it?"

Mike spotted the pair and ambled over. "Sherlock, John. Glad you could make it. Sorry about this theme, murder mystery. Just what you need after a long day of solving crimes eh? It's what the missus wanted though."

"It's fine we don't mind, do we Sherlock?" Sherlock began opening his mouth. "See, don't mind at all. Oh look, drinks."

"I'll be playing the victim." Mike informed them. "Stab wound. I know, everyone's very broken up about it."

Mike began pointing out the other guests for them. "Next to my wife, Amy, we've got her old college friend, Lucy Donald. Over there is Sergeant Palmer, apparently he's the one to look out for. A real rising star; do you remember the Paul Fletcher case? That was him. Mr, and Mrs. Leroy, neighbours of mine. Their son Brent. Molly, who you're familiar with. Dr. Donna Bennett, new to the hospital thought inviting her would make her feel welcome; Edward Milton, his brother Will, and of course you both know Greg, Sally and Ashley."

"Who?"

"Anderson."

"Oh. Interesting."

Amy smiled over at her husband. "If that's everyone, Mike, we should get started." Mike nodded, and slipped into the background as Amy addressed the rest of the group. "As you already know, the victim is Mike aka Mr. Andrews. He was found late last night by his wife, now grieving widow, that's me, with a single stab wound to the chest. In the small town they live in," She paused for dramatic effect. "Everyone is a suspect.

"Okay. If everyone'll take a slip of paper from this bag, it has a name, and short description on it; that's who you'll be. Remember to stay in character, we have costumes to go along with each- are you alright Sherlock? You sound like you're in pain."

"He's fine. Go on."

"Um well that's it, I suppose. Just have fun, don't overdo it on the drinks, and remember... there's a murderer amongst us, who know who'll be next."

The first to pick a card was Lestrade. "Oh look at that. I got Inspector Murdoch, of the local police. First on scene after the incident, and- oh has been known to make eyes at Mrs. Andrews. Sorry about that Mike."

Mike shrugged, passing a plastic police badge to him. "I won't hold it against you. Sherlock, your turn."

With a roll of his eyes and a loud huff, Sherlock took his slip. "Mr. Thomas Jones. Local millionaire. Well known hunter, was seen arguing with the victim the night he was murdered."

Before Sherlock had time to protest, a deerstalker was procured and stuffed onto his head. Any and all of the detective's complaints were ignored.

"You next, Molly."

Molly smiled with a slight blush as everyone watched her pull out her card. "Oh, I got a man! Should I-"

Mike shook his head. "That's the card you're stuck with I'm afraid, Molly."

Simply nodding, Molly accepted this. "Alright well then I got Alexander Stewart. The town's schoolteacher, he was courting Mr. Andrews daughter. Much to the victims disapproval." Molly's final sentence was followed by a series 'ooo's from the other guests.

After Molly came Lucy and Sergeant Palmer, adding a maid and a grocer to the party before the bag was finally turned towards John.

"Let's see now, I got M- erm." It was in that moment of rereading his card that John realized there really was no merciful God.

"Come on then John! Don't leave us in suspense. Who'd you pull?"

"Ah nobody. I'm going to draw again."

"No no. Those aren't the rules and you know it. The card you pick is the card you keep."

"Well I.. it's not...I..." John, with the hope for some kind of sudden distraction that would automatically disband the party, looked towards Sherlock, who only further proved his 'There is no God' theory by being too busy trying to pawn his hat off onto Lestrade to notice his friend. "Fine. I'm... um... Margaret.. Jones, Mr. Jones' wife."

It took several minutes for the hoots of laughter to die down enough for someone to pass John a pair of dainty white gloves, and a large flowery hat. John shoved the hat over his head with a look that just dared anyone to comment on it. The last of the guests took their cards, Anderson looking a little less smug now that he had his own bonnet perched on his head.

"Now what do we do?" Sherlock moaned as everyone dispersed.

"Now we look for clues."

"Clues?"

"Yes you know. Clues to catch the criminal."

"Why? We already know who the culprit is."

"No we don't."

"Yes we do, it's-"

"No _we_ don't. And you're not allowed to say who it is until at least two people have tried."

"But that's no fair! I know who did it!"

"Don't care, keep it to yourself."

"But-"

"No."

Sherlock took in a sharp breath. "Fine." He stalked away heading towards Lestrade to pout.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. Sherlock's just being... well Sherlock. How are you, Molly? Didn't expect to see you here on your own."

"Oh I'm not actually. I came with, um.. Greg."

"With Gr- oh. Oh that's good. That's good. So you and he are..."

"Together yeah. Just something we're trying out."

"Good that's.. good. You and him that's... good. Um I'm going to stop saying good now because I think I've overused it, but really that's great for you, Molly."

Molly smiled at him. "So have you found any clues yet?"

"No too busy with Sherlock damage control. You?"

"Not yet at least. I suppose we should keep looking shouldn't we, John, or.. is it Margaret now?"

"That's Mrs. Jones to you, Mr. Stewart.

* * *

When they first arrived upstairs, they stumbled upon Dr. Bennett and Sergeant Palmer in the midst of a conversation.

"I was bringing Mr. Andrews his daily groceries when I saw Mr. Jones leaving in a great 'uff like you wouldn't believe, ma'am."

"Uh huh. So uh.. did, I don't know, did Mr. Jones say he was going to come back and murder him?"

"No ma'am, but I tell ya, Mr. Andrews looked a fright when I next saw him. I'd have gone straight to the police if I'd known what was going to 'appen."

"Right thanks. You've been very... helpful."

"Anytime ma'am."

Rolling her eyes, Dr. Bennett pushed passed John, and Molly.

"Wow you were really in character."

"You think? That's great!" At their surprised looks Sergeant Palmer added, "My real passion's always lied in the theater."

"Oh. I thought you were supposed to be some kind of big shot at the Yard."

"I'm a great detective no doubts about that, but once you've solved one crime you've solved them all. You know what I mean?"

"No, not really."

"Anyways I'm going to be leaving the Yard soon. I got a part in a traveling act, it's gonna be huge! Oh all this talk about crime reminds me, I should go solve this one. G'day my lady." Sergeant Palmer leaned forward to place a kiss on John's hand. John whipped it out of the way just in time.

"Best not, mate."

Palmer thought this over. "Fair enough." He gave them a half bow before dashing away. John simply shook his head at Molly's bewildered expression.

The next hour was spent uncovering small clues like a woman's shoe, and piece of blue fabric, as well as one awkward encounter involving a closest, Mr. Andrew's daughter, and a paleontologist. Shortly after that raised voices could be heard from the main room. John groaned. It didn't take a genius to know who was involved.

"... And I'm telling you, it's not me!"

"Come on. A well known huntsman, seen arguing with the victim, and look, we found bullet casings in the hallway!"

"Those were obviously put there to mislead you."

"What do you know?"

"What do I- the victim was _stabbed _not shot. Even a five year old could have figured that one out. Though I suppose that comparison is giving you too much credit isn't it? _Ashley_."

"_That's a family name_!"

"Alright. Come on children, stop bickering." John piped up, at the same time Lestrade threw up a restraining arm to keep Anderson from throttling Sherlock. "Mike was Sherlock the killer?"

"'Fraid not, no."

"There. You see, arguing over nothing."

"He started it."

"Sherlock."

"Sorry, may I interrupt?" Mrs. Leroy asked.

Lestrade gave her a thankful grin. "By all means, please do."

"I haven't seen Brent around for a while, and I'm afraid he might have gotten himself lost."

Mr. Leroy rolled his eyes in the only way a man who's been married for more than a few years can. "For crying out loud woman. He's a grown man, I'm sure he can manage a three story house!"

"Hey now that you mention it, I don't see Ed anywhere either." Will added.

As if on cue two dual screams rang out. Brent raced into the room with Edward hot on his heels. "Murder! There's been a murder!"

"We already know that guys. Stiff's over there having a pint."

"No! It's- it's Sergeant Palmer! He's d- dead!"


End file.
